Fall
by Random Jelly Beans
Summary: Chelsea isn't acting like her usual cheery self... Vaughn has an idea why. But she doesn't seem to want to let her emotions show... VaughnxChelsea


**Such a long absence... And I'm not even back with a Graire fic! What's happening to me? ...I've become infatuated with Vaughn, that's what. **

**This is based off of the song "Fall" by Clay Walker. I love that song! Give it a listen: w w w. youtube [dot] com /watch?v=mLEKQT44PCg**

**By the way, it's a kind of screwed up story... I had to mess up Mark's character... Ugh. Whatever--read at your own risk! :P  
**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harvest Moon, or the song "Fall" by Clay Walker.**

* * *

"I really hope Chelsea feels better soon…"

"What? That was a pretty nasty breakup, but she seems to be taking it fine now, if you ask me…"

"Why don't you go visit her—you know, cheer her up?"

"Ah… well, maybe tomorrow, Ma."

I scowled from where I sat in the corner of my aunt's animal shop. How could Julia—my own cousin—not go visit Chelsea at a time like this? Even after her mother suggested it? Did she _honestly_ believe that Chelsea was okay? Shouldn't she know that Chelsea _never_ let anyone see when she was troubled?

I shook my head in disgust, standing up. I could feel my aunt's concerned look as I walked out the door. The cold night air hit me like I had walked right into a brick wall—I normally didn't mind winter, but right then it was just inconvenient. I sloshed through the snow, trying to calm down. I had a lot to be angry about.

I found myself walking unconsciously towards Chelsea's dark farm—I only realized this when I had stopped walking and I was at the entrance. I glanced around the populous farm, noting that it seemed a lot less… _cheerful_ than it usually did. There was a dim light coming from inside the barn, but other than that, no illumination… Her snow-covered field stretched out vastly before me and the leaves on her fruit trees rustled in the breeze; they dripped with semi-melted snow. It seemed more like they were drenched in melancholy tears.

I slowly walked over to the door of Chelsea's modest house—a place I was very familiar with. Chelsea, being the bright and determined soul she usually is, constantly invited me over for a glass of milk or a bowl of porridge. Why? I still don't have the slightest idea… I was a cold, irritated person, but she looked past that and befriended me. It came to the obvious point that she was my best friend, and that I was hers…

And then she started dating that Mark guy. I growled at the mere thought of that damn bastard… Sure, he was all smiles when he was around town, but… the way that Chelsea acted around him—it just didn't seem _right_. She was always so nervous, so careful about what she said, so—afraid… I swear, sometimes I'd see her looking at me like she was pleading with me to… well, I don't know what she wanted me to do, but it seemed pretty damn important. I didn't understand why she didn't just tell me whatever the hell was bothering her, but then I realized… she only did that when Mark was around, or after she'd been with him. I didn't know why, but I just knew that _he_ was doing something to make her like that. She was always so cheerful—so alive—until a few weeks after they started going out. And then he just broke up with her out of the blue… She didn't go out to take care of her farm or go on her normal errands around town that day. When anyone asked, Mark just said that she was "pretty beat up" about the whole thing, but when Julia went to visit her, she said she looked fine…

I knocked on the door gently, somewhat apprehensive; I hadn't thought about what to say to her. Hell, I didn't even know why I was even there… I suddenly heard quick footsteps and the sound of something—most likely a dresser drawer—sliding open and being shoved closed. I waited patiently. She would let me in in her own time…

"Come in," I heard a muffled voice call from the inside. I turned the knob and pushed open the door, glancing around. I saw the lights on and the heavy curtains covering the windows. That explained why it looked like her lights were off. I continued my brief scan of the room and saw Chelsea sitting at her kitchen table with a bowl of stew in front of her. It was untouched.

"Oh, hey, Vaughn," Chelsea said vacantly, flashing me a grin. I frowned. I hated that grin—it was different than her normal one. It was the one she'd started using after Mark happened. It was fake.

I noticed that she looked… different. Not too different, but different enough for me to notice. She was wearing her light coat—the one she had used during the fall—and… was she wearing… makeup? What the hell? I walked up closer to her, to get a better look at her face. Yeah, she was wearing makeup, alright.

"Is… something wrong?" She asked, noticing my examination of her face. She furrowed her brow and stood up. After a moment had passed and I hadn't answered, she sighed and jerked her head towards her kitchen. "Do you want some stew? I made extra."

As much as I loved her cooking, I had to refuse. I had discovered my reason for coming here: I had to figure out what was going on. I hated feeling helpless, especially when it came to Chelsea…

"Is that a no?" She asked, frowning slightly. I'd forgotten to respond.

"Oh—sorry. No, thanks," I adjusted my Stetson so that it covered my eyes slightly. It was a just habit I'd developed, but most people thought I did it when I was embarrassed. Only Chelsea knew otherwise…

"If you say so," she said, sitting back down and staring at the tabletop. We remained there in a tense silence for at least five minutes—maybe more. I sighed, sitting down across from her. She didn't look up.

"Chels," I started, trying to be nice. I could see her face become slightly shocked at the sudden mildness of my voice. I continued, "What's up? …Why are you wearing your coat inside?"

She grimaced. She realized I was onto her. "Maybe I'm cold."

"Yeah, and maybe Elliot will have a milk drinking contest with me," I scoffed. She rolled her eyes, but didn't say anything. I frowned, re-noticing the powder covering her usually creamy-looking skin. "Hey—why the interest in makeup all of a sudden?"

Her cheeks glowed a warm pink color as she sent an uncharacteristic glare my way. I raised one of my eyebrows, challenging her. After a brief moment, she gave up, returning her gaze to the wooden table. She sighed.

"You always had to be so damn perceptive," she muttered, standing up and walking into her kitchen. I immediately followed her. I was going to get my answers, damn it.

"So would you mind telling me what's going on?" I asked, barely able to keep my frustration out of my voice. What was happening that she would possibly keep from me? I thought she trusted me. Why would she deny that something was wrong? I swear, if she didn't tell me…

"I don't know what you're talking about."

And then I lost it.

"Listen," I growled, grabbing the arm of her jacket. She winced, which was odd…I didn't actually grab _her_. I tugged on the jacket to get her to look at me, and it ended up just coming off in my hand. She was wearing her regular orange and yellow getup so I continued, shrugging it off, "Why the hell aren't you being honest with me? What is so—?"

I stopped, my gaze landing on her bare arms. They were covered in dark splotches of purple, blue, and green, as was her chest. There was a cut on her right forearm that still looked somewhat fresh… I couldn't get a good look at it before she slipped the jacket back on.

For the first time in my life, I couldn't find my voice. I was… shocked, to say the least… What was this—some kind of joke? Chelsea couldn't _really_ be so hurt…

"Vaughn," she said, snapping me out of my stupor, "don't… don't say anything, okay?"

I gaped at her. It only took me another second to rediscover my vocal chords: "What the hell, Chelsea?! What—who did this?"

She looked at me with those horrible, pleading sapphire eyes… I understood immediately.

"Mark," I muttered, feeling such an intense rage burning inside me that I felt the need to just punch something. I settled on pounding my fist on the laminate countertop. I was going to kill that blonde m—

"Vaughn, calm down," Chelsea said, stepping a little bit closer to me, her eyes still urgent, "It's no big deal, okay? Just don't tell anyone—they don't need to know about it… I don't need their pity."

I needed to calm myself down—I realized that much—but this woman wasn't helping me much with her insane comments. I shut my eyes and took a few deep breaths. I counted to ten. I was still irrationally angry. I counted to twenty—not much of an improvement. I counted to sixty and was finally able to think properly…

"Chelsea," I said quietly, my eyes still closed.

"Yes?" I heard her squeak. She realized I was very capable of inflicting harm at this point—I just hope she knew I'd never hurt _her_…

"Will you… _please_… explain?" I asked. I was beyond words at this point. I felt angry, of course—but also concerned, sad, confused… I was at a loss. How did I let this happen?

Chelsea was quiet. I opened my eyes and saw her watching the wall, her eyes distant. She turned to look at me, a small smile on her face. It was a sad smile.

"When Mark first asked me out, he was great—kind, funny, sweet… I agreed to go out with him more and more often. After a little more than a season of constant dates, I was starting to think that I… I loved him," she shuddered, and I felt my eyes widen slightly, "Then… I told him just that. He seemed absolutely ecstatic. He told me… he loved me too. And then… then…" She stopped there, her forehead creased. I couldn't stand hearing this… How could she have loved that—that _scum_?

"And then?" I prompted gently. It may have been insensitive of me to pry, but really, did I look like a sensitive person?

"And then…" she took a deep breath, and I was surprised that it wasn't shaky in the least. Why wasn't she crying or something? Wasn't that something that girls did? Chelsea continued, her eyes closed tightly, as if she was having a bad headache, "And then, that same night, he offered to walk me home like he always did. I invited him in for some tea… and his eyes—they looked like they were on fire… He pushed me over to my bed and—he raped me…"

She looked away from me, instead choosing to study the floor. She looked… ashamed… I could feel that rage build up in me again, but it was so much stronger than before. I forced myself to contain it; I squeezed my hands into fists and could feel them trembling. I took a deep breath through my nose. How…? How could anyone do that to Chelsea—of all people? Chelsea, the carefree farmer, the sweet girl who never gave up on anyone, no matter how cold they seemed? She was the most innocent and perfect person I'd ever known, and—and…

I loved her…

Chelsea continued, oblivious to me at that point, "I didn't think he was that kind of person… Really, he never let on when we were in public… It makes me sick, just thinking about it. And then he did it again almost every time we went out on a 'date'… He told me that if I told anyone, he'd hurt me even more, so I didn't. Until now, at least… Anyway, he came over this morning, and I was expecting—well, you could probably guess what I was expecting—but… he didn't. He just started hitting me, saying that I'd told someone… But I didn't! I don't know what he was talking about, but he seemed to believe it, because he wouldn't stop… He kicked me and hit me… and then… he told me that if I told anyone else, I'd be sorry, so I covered it all up. Goddess knows what he's capable of…"

I gritted my teeth. Why? Why did this happen to her? Why was she so damn calm?

"Chelsea…" I murmured, tapping into a store of self-control that I didn't even know existed. She looked up at me, her eyes showing how humiliated she seemed to feel… I took my hat off and ran my gloved-hand through my hair, frustrated. "How come you're not… Why aren't you more… upset?"

She shrugged, smiling at me. It didn't reach her eyes. I was damn tired of these lousy fake smiles. I wanted—no, I _needed_—her real smile. What would it take for her to smile like that again? _Could_ she smile like that again? Goddess, I'd do anything to see that smile…

"Because… it doesn't matter that much; there are people out there so much worse off than me, anyways… It seems stupid to bring my petty problems into the consciousness of the island." She explained, trying to push all of this aside like it was a scraped knee or a beesting. I glared at her.

"'Petty problems'?! Chelsea, this is not a _petty problem_," I spat, scowling, "He could've _killed_ you, Chelsea! Do you have any idea how important this is? Did it ever occur to you what would happen to anyone else if you die? Do you even _care_? I don't think you're that selfish."

Chelsea gaped at me, her blue eyes glassy. She opened her mouth to whisper, "Vaughn…"

"Show me that you care, Chelsea—fall! I'll catch you! Just fall apart, damn it! Go on and lose it all: every doubt, fear, worry… I'm right here—_fall_!" I shouted at her, my mind all over the place. What if she _had_ died?

I could see her lip tremble. She blinked and two tears rolled down her cheeks, leaving streaks in the makeup. I could start to see more bruises… Chelsea sniffed as more tears started to come. She closed the small gap between us in her kitchen and latched onto me, her arms wrapped tightly around my waist. I secured my arms around her tightly—I had to be able to put her together again after this, but it was vital that she just… let it all out. I'd heard of too many mental problems caused by hidden emotions…

We stayed like that for a long time. I couldn't tell you exactly how long. It went by so fast. I stayed silent the whole time, listening to her sobs… I didn't really want to say anything—honestly, I'd probably have just gotten her angry with me if I said too much…

"Vaughn," Chelsea hiccupped into my tear-stained shirt. I looked down at her. She was looking up at me, her eyes red and slightly puffy. Her cheeks were blotchy and she had a huge purple bruise painted across her left cheekbone. I winced.

"Hm?" I asked as I moved a strand of chestnut hair off of Chelsea's wet face. If I didn't know any better, I'd say that the sudden redness in her cheeks was a blush.

"Thanks," she whispered, "I-I think you saved my life…"

"Don't thank me—it was worth it," I murmured. I felt my face flush and my eyes widened—did I seriously just say that? To my relief, she laughed. I looked down at her, incredulous. Was she honestly _smiling_?

"What?" Chelsea asked, frowning slightly, "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You were smiling—your _real_ smile," I explained. Her face slowly pulled up into that amazing, wonderful, beautiful smile that I loved—that smile had saved me from perpetual loneliness.

"My real smile?" She asked. I nodded, smirking.

"Yes, your real smile. Not that fake crap you were trying to pull before, when…" I trailed off. Instead of becoming more upset like I was expecting, Chelsea smiled even wider.

"You know, that is probably one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me."

…Weird. It sounded somewhat insulting, if you asked me.

"Hey—Vaughn? Can I… ask you something?" Chelsea asked, her blue eyes suddenly nervous. I nodded.

"What?"

"Would you believe me if I told you that I do care, and that I'm sorry?" she asked, her eyes pleading with me—but not in the same way as before…

"Don't apologize," I muttered, "You didn't do anything _wrong_, per se, it was all someone else's fault. But, yeah, I would believe you."

And then Chelsea did something unexpected. She smiled hugely and jumped up to peck me on my cheek. I felt my face grow hot, and I saw Chelsea's was flushed. We looked at each other in shock.

We'd found ourselves falling quickly after that—and it was about time, too.

* * *

**I hope you get what I meant in that last sentence... Review and tell me what you think, please! Was it as bad as I think it is? Is Vaughn OOC, like I think he is? Tell me! :P**


End file.
